


just wanna catch your eye

by virdant



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Do not try Hannibal's courting methods, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Will Graham does not like eye contact, Will just wants to cross streets in peace, eyes are distracting, no dogs were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: The first time, he thinks it’s an accident. Will’s in Baltimore to meet up with a Johns Hopkins professor that Alana knows. He resigns himself to a brief chat, which feels aurdorously long. Done with people, Will googles a nearby dog shelter and hits the streets.Only to be almost run over by a fucking Bentley.It skids to a stop before him. Will raises his head to glare balefully at the driver, who stares placidly back. He continues his way across the streets.Little did he know, this was only the beginning.--The only time Will Graham willingly makes eye contact with anybody is when he's about to be run over by an intrepid driver.Hannibal takes to increasingly dangerous attempts to get Will to meet his eyes again.





	just wanna catch your eye

**Author's Note:**

> Alanna (@heartturnedtop1) [shared an Onion article on twitter](https://twitter.com/heartturnedtop1/status/1093644586260418560) and I promised them a fic, so here it is!
> 
> Thanks to anthropologicalhands for--as always--rising to the occasion when I can't think of a title, and providing.
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! I wish everybody as wonderful a meet-cute as almost getting run over by a car and then getting subsequently stalked by said car! Or maybe not.

“This is going to sound crazy, Jack…”

“When is it ever not?”

Will scowls at his coffee. “I mean it.”

“Alright.”

He says, “I think I’m being stalked by a serial killer.”

  


* * *

  


The first time, he thinks it’s an accident. Will’s in Baltimore to meet up with a Johns Hopkins professor that Alana knows. He resigns himself to a brief chat, which feels arduously long. Done with people, Will googles a nearby dog shelter and hits the streets.

Only to be almost run over by a fucking Bentley.

It skids to a stop before him. Will raises his head to glare balefully at the driver, who stares placidly back. He continues his way across the streets.

Little did he know, this was only the beginning.

  


* * *

  


The second time, Will’s been strong-armed into getting lunch with Alana. He’s wrangling his seven dogs from the car to the nearby dog park when an oddly familiar Bentley rolls by, dangerously close to Buster.

Will lifts his head to stare, furiously, into the driver’s eyes.

It’s the same driver, cheekbones and all.

Buster barks.

This is, of course, still the beginning.

  


* * *

  


The third time, Will _assumes_ it’s a coincidence; the same Bentley, with the same goddamn driver, almost mows him down in the Quantico parking lot.

Will stares, straight into that goddamn driver with his goddamn cheekbones and his goddamn expression of utmost innocence, like he didn’t almost run over a perfectly innocent dog just a week ago, straight into his eyes.

The man stares back without a twinge of guilt.

Will continues his way into his classroom, wondering if maybe the driver will learn to fucking stop speeding around stop signs.

*

Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but three times? Three times is a _pattern_.

And what comes after three data points?

The goddamn Bentley is just outside the Trader Joe’s in Wolf Trap. It’s rounding the corner of the street when Will stops by the butcher for bones for the dogs. It leaps out at him as he leaves the vet, an amiable Winston in tow.

The man meets his eyes every time, eyes creased just faintly in satisfaction every single time, something undeniably pleased in his expression as Will narrowly escapes from death yet again.

  


* * *

  


“It’s the same guy,” Will insists. “I can tell.”

Jack frowns. “I’m going to have to insist you see a psychiatrist,” he finally says.

And, well. That marked the _middle_.

  


* * *

  


“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The psychologist looks mildly offended, if a slight furrowing of the forehead can convey an expression. Will takes it in as he stares, furiously, at the wall behind him.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Jack said. Alana'd spoken highly of him. He’d been highly recommended. Just the right person to help Will Graham with his recent problems.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter drove a Bentley.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter drives the same goddamn Bentley that had been almost running him over at a random intersection on various days of the week.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter—

“Hello, Will,” he says.

“Absolutely not,” Will replies, and marches out of the room.

  


* * *

  


“You can’t just walk out on your psychiatrist,” Alana says, in what is probably a well-meaning tone of voice.

“I just did,” Will points out.

“You really should apologize,” Alana continues. 

Will staresout the window of the café. There's a Bentley looming in the corner, driving ominously slowly, just waiting for him to emerge.

“He’s really a good guy,” Alana says, ignoring Will’s distraction. This is less out of any consideration for Will’s disinterest in the conversation, and more because Will never makes eye contact anyways, so it 's hard to tell if Will's actually distracted or just avoiding eye contact like usual.

“Uh huh,” Will agrees.

“He was my mentor during my residency, you know. He used to be a surgeon before he switched to psychiatry.”

Will glares at the car.

“I just think that if you gave him a chance, he would surprise you.”

Will doubts that. He's already seen Hannibal’s true colors: as a serial murderer with no consideration for dogs.

The Bentley turns a corner, and then begins to slowly crawl across the street on the other side. Several cars, aggravated by its slow speed, blast their horns at him.

“—And he’s an artist. He’s always hosting elaborate dinner parties. He’s really an amazing guy, Will.”

Will blinks as the Bentley rounded the corner again. He glances at Alana’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“Just give him a chance. He’s a really good guy. I’m sure he just wants the best for you.”

“Right,” he agrees. “The best for me.”

  


* * *

  


Will stares at the corpse.

“Well?” Jack demands. “Is it the Chesapeake Ripper?”

He studies the kill. The Chesapeake Ripper is an artist, a mind that sees into humanity clearly, with surgical knowledge and skill. 

Will glances behind him. There's a Bentley cruising across the street on the other side of the yellow tape.

He looks back at the corpse.

The Ripper’s crimes aren’t crimes of passion, but methodically thought-out and executed. They’re executed by a man with patience.

Back at the Bentley with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, making yet another round as he lays in wait for Will to emerge.

Back at the corpse.

“Oh,” Will finally says. “God. I’ve been so _stupid_.”

  


* * *

  


“What do you have against dogs?”

Dr. Hannibal Lecter looks up from where he had been sketching at his monstrosity of a desk. Will doesn’t look at what he was drawing, which probably wasn’t dogs. He looks at the shelves instead.

“They are very loyal beasts.”

“They are. Just like my local neighborhood stalking serial killer.”

Dr. Lecter looks confused, which is unfair, because Will has photographic evidence of him in his Bentley following him around. Most of the photographic evidence is in his memory, but what was the point of having a photographic memory if you can’t call it photographic evidence?

“I know you’ve been following me,” Will says.

Dr. Lecter manages an appropriately baffled expression without engaging the majority of the muscles of his face.

“You almost hit Buster with your car.”

He says, “Buster?” in tones that suggest he has no idea what Will was talking about, but is too polite to say so.

“My dog.” Will shoves his hands into his pockets. “You almost hit him with your car.” He pauses. “That was the second time,” he adds, in case Dr. Lecter doesn’t remember. 

“My apologies.”

“Yeah well.” Will glances at Dr. Lecter’s chin. “Don’t do it again.”

“I shall endeavor to avoid hitting any of canine companions with any vehicle.”

“And any other method,” Will adds.

Dr. Lecter looks inappropriately wounded, given that—

“I know you’re the Chesapeake Ripper.”

And, well, that should have been the end of that.

  


* * *

  


“When I said you needed to see a psychiatrist, I didn’t mean that you should _date_ him.”

Will very politely doesn’t point out that Jack never put any stipulations on what he expected from “seeing” a psychiatrist, refraining from mentioning that he’s technically seeing a psychiatrist every single time Hannibal drove by in his creeper Bentley. “Good bye, Jack,” he says, firmly, before hanging up the phone.

Hannibal looks up, “Time to go?”

Will checks his watch. “I suppose it’s murder time.”

Hannibal very cheerfully heads to the garage.

“Most people use windowless vans for murder,” Will points out helpfully as he lays a tarp down in the back seats of the Bentley. Winston waits very patiently until the tarp is properly aligned before leaping into the seat and patting it down, tail thumping happily the entire time.

“I am not most people, Will,” Hannibal says very amiably.

“I know,” Will says, drily. “Most people have given up on eye contact.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of your sapphire eyes?”

“Nobody says that.”

“Then they have failed to discover one of the greatest beauties of the world.”

Will turns to Winston. “He’s an idiot.”

Winston’s tail wags.

Hannibal Lecter does not look put out. Instead, he climbs into the front seat of the car. “Shall you wait for me at the end of the driveway, so I may be blessed with the vision of your eyes, glaring balefully at me as I approach?”

Will rolls his eyes. “The point of glaring is so you _stop_ trying to run me over.”

“And miss the sight of you making eye contact with me again? Never.”

And that, really, was the end.

Or shall we say, the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter ([@virdant](https://twitter.com/virdant))
> 
> comments and kudos always appreciated.


End file.
